Tales of Hogwarts
by TigerShadow
Summary: Sometimes it's an adventure, sometimes it's a slice of life, but either way, Hogwarts students can tell many a tale of their seven years.
1. The Tale of Ginny

Everyone has a story to tell, and Ginny Weasley is no different.

* * *

Her first year could have gone better.

Every time she said it, everyone in the room—herself included—laughed. It wasn't that there was anything funny about the statement; as a matter of fact, it was because it was such an understatement that people found reason to be mirthful about it. Had she not, after all, made a complete fool of herself in front of _the_ Harry Potter? Hadn't she been possessed by Tom Riddle—who was really Lord Voldemort himself? Hadn't she been forced to so all sorts of horrible things under his influence?

She shuddered whenever she heard the name "Chamber of Secrets." It was understandable too ; it was a horrible place. Seeing Tom Riddle for the first time, learning that he was Voldemort, and that there wasn't anything she could do except allow her life force to give him power—it was enough to scare anyone stiff. (She'd been told many times over that greater wizards than she would have died more of fright than of having their energy drained out of them, and even though she didn't quite believe it herself, it was at least some form of comfort).

Tom Riddle was the last thing she saw before waking up to see emerald eyes gazing into her own.

Of course, he'd saved her, and that was a trifle of a relief. Seeing her parents there, having them with her, was likely the only thing that provided a source of spur-of-the-moment comfort (in addition to the chocolate from Madam Pomfrey), yet the feelings she remembered most weren't of exhilaration of her freedom, or of her familial security—they were of guilt and fear and hurt.

Not even Harry himself knew, but those feelings hadn't left her since that night.

She knew what people thought, and she knew what they said in what they thought were barely-audible whispers as she walked past—_No child should have to go through that…A cruel twist of fate to such a young girl…_

For a while, she believed it.

Then she remembered Harry, and any thought of self-pity vanished almost instantly.

* * *

Her second year wasn't all that much better.

How could it have been better with creatures that sucked all cheerful thoughts out of you were surrounding you day and night? What could have possibly made her feel better when what guarded the very place she felt safest at were creatures that made her feel such the opposite?

She tried, hard as she could, to stay away from the dementors—it was one of those few times when she felt she could empathize with Harry. She hated the dementors as much as he did—hoping that the act of isolation from them would remove the fear she felt, take away the nightmares.

They only stopped when the dementors left, and Ginny was more than happy to see them go. Having memories like what she had forcibly drawn back to the surface…it was comfortable for no one, and yet, though she empathized, she still couldn't imagine what it must be like to be Harry.

* * *

Her third year started off well.

Part of that was Hermione's doing. Clever girl that she was, Hermione had persuaded Ginny to talk to her about Harry and, once Ginny had poured out what she felt—Hermione, for the record, was a much better listener than Riddle—Hermione gave her very good advice: to be herself. Hermione's logic behind this was that Ginny was "an attractive person" and that Harry just didn't happen to know that yet.

Ginny had wondered, at the time, just how in the world he would see her as attractive when she paid romantic attention to him alone. She'd said so to Hermione, who explained—very patiently—that she needed to date a few other boys; at that point Hermione pointed out several who looked like they were rather interested in her, or they would be had they not known of her borderline-obsession with Harry.

This advice, at first, hadn't quite suited Ginny—how in the world would it look attractive if she went around swapping boys and all those sorts of things? But Hermione pointed out then that she didn't need to date every boy in Hogwarts for Harry to notice her.

She'd waited for the chances, and although she was initially annoyed at Harry asking Cho out (and didn't try to ignore the twinge of happiness about the fact that he'd been turned down, though she did succeed at hiding it), she wound up meeting a Ravenclaw herself at the Yule Ball—a boy named Michael Corner. They'd gotten along fairly well, shared a dance or two, and then he'd asked her out.

Momentarily forgetting Hermione's advice, Ginny had to stop herself from saying no. Then it occurred to her that Michael was likeable, witty, and fairly charming; she didn't really feel the need to think it over any further before saying yes.

(She'd kept it quiet from Ron, of course, and encouraged Michael and all others who knew to do the same—in the long run she was grateful for their silence.)

* * *

Fourth year was one of the most miserable, next to the first itself.

She did get valuable Defense Against the Dark Arts training (almost all of which became helpful in her O.W.L.; she didn't think she'd ever seen Snape so shocked) and she did get the chance to use it practically—including her famous Bat Bogey Hex.

However, she was sure that she would have rather not have had it be necessary to have to use the spells practically.

Fighting Death Eaters—who were all much more experienced at everything than she was—was no easy business, though she'd known that going in. She had mentioned it to no one, and yet…yet they had all come out alright, they were all alive, Harry had escaped Voldemort again—

_Harry. _Now she knew what it was like, being in Harry's shoes—fighting Dark wizards all the time, constantly risking his neck, saving the world…if it were her in all that limelight, she would have gone mad.

She almost did, when Sirius died. She knew he was closest to Harry; she never dared compared her grief to his. But Sirius was her friend too, he was starting to be like her older brother, and it was cruel that he'd died so early.

Even without the fears of Voldemort and his return, there was that horrible Umbridge woman, to whom Ginny had taken a dislike the very first time she'd seen her. The evil woman was cruel, delusional, and sadistic—not to mention the fact that she'd brutally abused the color pink and very nearly put Ginny off of her love of cats. (She later heard the story of how Harry and Hermione had tricked her into going into the Forbidden Forest and got her dragged off by the centaurs while she was shrieking in pain and fury; how Dumbledore had rescued her; and—just a little bit—Ginny privately wished that Dumbledore had never known to go in there to save her.)

Only Hermione had known another reason why Ginny hadn't liked her fourth year. Michael was alright; he listened to her and really liked her, and she sort of started to like him too—but he didn't have emerald eyes or circular glasses or messy, jet-black hair. She attempted to ignore this, attempted to ignore the fact that he was compensation for not dating Harry—but she couldn't.

(She also attempted to ignore the guilt she felt for using him—even though she started to truly like him, at the start she'd been sort of using him—but that only went away much later when she apologized. He hasn't spoken to her since, and though that wasn't her intent, she doesn't really care one way or the other.)

* * *

Her fifth year hadn't really been all that amazing.

Even with the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads—at some point, Ginny got sick of referring to him as "You-Know-Who"—there was still Hogwarts. Around her, people were starting to doubt, starting to wonder if Dumbledore's protection was enough. (Ginny tried to put on a brave face and tell them they were all being stupid, that of course Dumbledore's protection was enough, that Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, but she soon began to wonder if it was more to convince herself.) Her O.W.L.s could have gone much smoother, but (as she told him all the time during their marriage and even before that) that was all Harry's fault.

Then…then the Death Eaters were there, in the castle, somehow brought in, and Ginny was fighting for her life, for others' lives, and she knew—just knew—that this was it, that Hogwarts as she knew it was finished—

And then Dumbledore was dead, and any shred of hope she'd had—especially now that she knew Harry was leaving to do whatever it was he was going to do—dissipated.

So she supposed "not all that amazing" was, again, an understatement.

* * *

Her sixth year was a nightmare.

She knew it would be bad—Voldemort taking over, not knowing whom to trust, being forced to learn the Dark Arts…she knew it had been bad when he took over the first time, but it was worse now that he had infiltrated Hogwarts, the only place in the world where she and all of her friends felt safe.

Then there was the battle, the nightmare, the horrible nightmare that Ginny wished would just end, wished would go away, wanted to stop—

And then it was over, and Voldemort was demanding for Harry, giving them one hour—

And then Harry was dead and the battle was starting over—she knew she could die, but she would take some of his supporters with her—take revenge on them all, get vengeance on the people who had made her life a living hell—the Killing Curse missed her by inches—her mother took down Bellatrix Lestrange herself—

And then he was back, Harry was alive, and he was facing Voldemort once and for all—

The high screech of fury—

The cries of the signature spells of Voldemort and Harry—

The Elder Wand flying up to meet Harry, refusing to kill its master—

Voldemort, finally defeated, lying on the floor of the Great Hall, body being trampled as people began huddling around Harry, congratulating him, celebrating—

Ginny looked around her, looked at the mess that had once been the Great Hall, where she had eaten and laughed and talked with her friends, lying in a ruined state, bodies all around it, one of them belonging to Fred…it took her a long while to mend, to even think of celebrating.

She remembered after the battle that she didn't choose to speak with Harry. Not yet. He needed to tie up…whatever it was he needed to. Her mother, meanwhile, was there for her, and suddenly Ginny realized that she didn't think that there was any woman in the world she loved more than her mother. (She told her so, later, and Molly cried—it hadn't been an unusual sight, but this time, Ginny was almost happy to see the tears, for the tears themselves were of joy, and knew, just a little, that she could try to become whole again.)

* * *

Her seventh year was not spent at Hogwarts.

She knew she couldn't go back yet. There was so much more she had to do, so much more that she needed, that she couldn't spend her seventh year at Hogwarts. She couldn't face it yet—couldn't deal with the memories that she knew would come back to her again.

To everyone's surprise, it was Ron that took her back, took her to the place she secretly hoped, for awhile, that she'd never have to see again. He helped her cope, helped her understand what she had to do—face up to what had happened, move forward in her life.

They never really talked about it to anyone else. Ginny never told Harry, James, Albus, or Lily, and she was certain Ron hadn't mentioned it to Hermione, Rose, or Hugo. But there was something there between them, the memories they shared, that made their bond stronger, and Ginny knew why Ron was Harry's closest friend.

When it came down to it, seven years of her life had been the most tumultuous years in all of it—but they'd made her better, made her stronger, and she knew, just knew, that she'd been made better because of them, and if she was given an option, she wouldn't have changed them—not one.

* * *

Please review! I really appreciate your feedback; I always read and appreciate a good review!


	2. The Tale of Draco and Scorpius

Scorpius always, always keeps his promises, even the ones his father makes him make. This is the story of just such a promise.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, looking at the various passengers unloading trunks and owls off the Hogwarts Express. He remembered his days of boarding the train, of walking down the corridors chatting with friends (whether they were real friends or not was up for debate), of buying sweets from the old woman pushing the trolley, and almost wished he could still be there, still take the ride to Hogwarts, still chat aimlessly—or not so aimlessly-with friends in his compartment.

It was still worth it, though, just a little, when he saw the look of excitement cross his young son's face as he, too, boarded the train with the others.

He noticed said son (who had recently finished his second year) walking off the train, deep in conversation with two other students. Draco couldn't see one of them, but he recognized another instantly—red, bushy hair, bright blue eyes, skin scattered with freckles. A Weasley. Looking closer as the bushy-haired Weasley stepped back a little, he might have thought he'd seen Harry Potter himself were it not for the fact that the man was speaking with his two friends and his wife some fifty feet from Draco.

Scorpius didn't seem to be insulting them at all; neither student appeared to be affronted or offended. These, Draco deduced, were clearly Scorpius's friends.

Draco should have figured Scorpius didn't want to hang around the children of Draco's friends—as a matter of fact, Draco wasn't sure he would have wanted to either; he never stayed in contact with those old supposed friends himself. But of all the people he could have made friends with, it had to be a Potter and a Weasley.

As Draco willed Scorpius to keep this conversation brief—Draco really didn't want to be seen with his son getting friendly with his old rivals' children—Scorpius bade the boy and girl quick goodbyes and walked over with his trunk to his father.

Draco had always had a soft spot for Scorpius where he might not have had for other children. Maybe it was because Scorpius was his only son; maybe it was because Scorpius resembled him so much. Either way, it was clear that Draco loved Scorpius like a father should and wanted him to turn out better than he did.

"Good term, then?" Draco asked as Scorpius, flushing, met him close to the barrier. His son's white-blonde hair bobbed up and down as he nodded. "That's good, then. Come on…"

Before he could get his son off the platform, however, the two kids he'd seen before walked up to Scorpius. "Bye, Scor," the boy said.

"We'll see you next term, then," the girl added. "Write to us, though, will you?"

"Alright," replied Scorpius, giving them a genuine smile. "Bye, Al. Bye, Rose."

He turned quickly and followed his father through the barrier, Draco doing his best to look as inconspicuous as he could. They walked outside King's Cross Station, Draco strolling along in silence as his son excitedly talked about his second term. He listened particularly intently as Scorpius recounted excitedly the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch Cup Championship.

"…And the Seeker barely managed to get the Snitch, but we would've won anyway, James Potter's the best Chaser I've seen my whole life, he's amazing…"

Draco raised his eyebrows. He would have thought James would have gone for the Seeker; that was what his father did…but he supposed that if Scorpius wasn't entirely like him, Potter's son wouldn't be either…among other things, Scorpius was a Gryffindor.

"And then we won the House Cup! You should have seen those Ravenclaw's faces, they thought for sure they were going to win…"

Scorpius talked animatedly the whole way home (Draco had managed to get a car and a license; he wasn't at first—mostly because his father would be furious at him for doing things like a Muggle—but Astoria and his mother wanted him to, they said it might come in handy…Draco preferred Apparition, but with all the Muggles around, he could see why it wasn't a smart thing to do).

When they finally reached Malfoy Manor, Scorpius nearly dashed in, ready to tell his mother and grandmother—Draco suspected that Scorpius didn't like Lucius very much, and could see why—all about his term, though Draco was sure it was only he who would know exactly what his son and Potter's got up to all year. Draco stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. Scorpius, surprised, turned to face his father, his soft gray eyes widening.

"What is it, Dad?" he asked. "Is everything alright?"

"It's fine, Scorpius," Draco replied, "I just wanted to ask you about something."

"Alright."

"Well…the Potter boy and Weasley girl…you're good friends with them, then?"

Scorpius nodded. "Professor McGonagall says we're like Al's dad and Rose's parents were when they were in school."

Draco fought and barely won a battle with himself not to cringe. "Well…this Weasley girl…"

"Rose," Scorpius interrupted.

"Right," Draco continued. "_Rose_, you…just promise me you won't…you know…marry her or anything, alright?"

"Marry her?" Scorpius wrinkled his nose, as though the idea were something smelly and disgusting. "Rose? No way! I'd never…she's one of my best friends, Dad, but I don't think like that…no." He thought for a minute and then asked, "Why did you ask? Because she's not pureblood?"

"No," Draco replied hastily, "no…it's not because of her blood or anything, it's just…promise me, alright?"

Scorpius nodded. "Okay," he replied, "I promise."

Scorpius lived up to his promise, of course—he was so loyal Al joked all the time that he should have been in Hufflepuff—and he didn't fall in love with Rose. At first, he had to remind himself not to, but then it got easier, when he realized that she was really just one of his best friends, really more like his sister.

He was thankful, however, that his father didn't tell him anything about Lily Luna Potter, because if he had, that might have been the first promise Scorpius would have ever broken.

* * *

Yes, I think Scorpius would have been a Gryffindor. However much everyone would expect him to be in Slytherin, I think he might have been brave enough to prove them and their prejudices wrong, and brave enough to shed the old reputation that comes with the Malfoy name-but that's just my interpretation.


	3. The Tale of Hermione

We all need a break once in awhile, and for Hermione, Ron is more than happy to oblige.

* * *

The grounds were lit with sunlight, the warmth spreading to even her very fingertips. She took a deep, relaxed breath, drinking in the sweet air and thankful that she could get out of the castle to relax.

She couldn't say the same for her fellow students. Every one of them was in the castle, studying for exams. The grounds were completely deserted, her being the exception; she needed to get away from the noisy common room—as usual, the source was Fred and George, who never bothered to study and wanted an excuse to get everyone else off of it as well.

_Hogwarts, A History,_ her favorite, lay open on her lap; it was the seventh time she'd read it, but she knew she might have missed something the first six times and figured she would be able to find what she'd missed if she read it another. Indeed, she'd already found out new and interesting things about the ancient castle that she'd never seen or heard of before.

Suddenly, the pursuit of knowledge was cut short when the book, much to poor Hermione's astonishment, began levitating and floated out of her hands, drifting off around the grounds. Not hesitating for a minute, and thankful that she wasn't wearing her robes, she took off after it.

The trouble was that this book, which was clearly being charmed, wasn't being a proper chase subject. It would float around far ahead of her and she would catch up and try to grab it, but it would jump—could they do that, even if they were charmed?—just high enough so that even jumping with her arms outstretched she couldn't reach it.

Finally, after about an hour of repeating this routine, Hermione gave up—not only was she exhausted, but the book was now nowhere to be seen. She collapsed on a bench in the courtyard, as much anger as she could muster radiating off her as she fumed. _That was my favorite book!_ Angry thoughts boiled inside her. _Now I'll have to wait to go to Hogsmeade or Flourish and Blotts to get one—but it won't be the same! I got that when I was eleven, I loved it!_

Out of nowhere, something tapped her on the side of the head. Looking up, she saw, with astonishment, that it was a book—her book, her copy of _Hogwarts, A History._

She grabbed it at last, and it went limp; the charm was clearly removed. She picked it up and opened it to read it again before something caught her eye. There, on the inside from cover, a note was written in a familiar scrawl.

_Thought you needed a break from your studying._

There wasn't a name after it, but Hermione simply needed to look at the handwriting to guess who it was. _He was always good at Hovering Charms…I'll hex him into oblivion for this…_

She made good on her promise—Hermione Granger was never one not to—but as Ron Weasley lay spread-eagled in the common room on the couch, a ridiculous grin on his face and his legs turned to mush by Hermione's clever jinx, all he could think of was how pretty her hair looked in the sun.

* * *

Something of a random ending, I think, but I suppose that might be something that could have happened. It could have been during fourth year exam studies, as Fred and George were always spazzing out in fourth year and Hermione would have wanted to avoid it, as she wouldn't have the power (yet) to put them in detention.


	4. The Tale of Lily and James

There is no such thing as a normal snowy day with the Marauders.

* * *

The grounds were beautiful when it snowed.

They were beautiful all the time, actually. Hogwarts was one of the few places where she felt truly at home, especially now that her sister wasn't speaking to her—and that was at best. She loves her parents—she really does—but she knows that Hogwarts has become, more or less, her real home, and every time she arrives on the Hogwarts Express, she needs to see the grounds before she feels she's at a place where she belongs.

It's a habit.

When it snows outside, however, it's a different kind of beauty. The white blanket coating the ground sparkles in the pale sunlight overhead, which illuminates the overcast sky and turns it silver. Snow often comes toward the end of classes too, and with it a peace and quiet over the castle.

Until today, anyway.

Lily happened to have been walking the grounds as she always did on the first snow. She'd been doing it for six years—it was her seventh now, and she wasn't about to break tradition. She felt tranquil; in addition to snow, Hogwarts seemed blanketed in quiet.

At least, that was the way it was before she felt something hard and cold smack the back of her red hair and something icy trickling down the nape of her neck.

Lily whipped around, not needing to see a mirror to feel her emerald eyes crackling with fury. She scrutinized the area, not wanting to miss a single detail—one overlooked could mean her downfall.

Granted, it was a downfall to a snowball, but it was the principle of the thing, and a true Gryffindor would never give up easily.

The perpetrator was doing a fine job of keeping themselves hidden. As a matter of fact, they might have done perfectly were it not for the sound of chortling to her right. Looking closer, she found a disembodied group of feet that wouldn't be seen every day…

She walked closer, hoping that the perpetrators would be too busy in their mirth to notice. Fortunately, they were, and Lily yanked off of them what she had figured since hearing the voices was an Invisibility Cloak, which revealed, as was tradition, the usual suspects.

"POTTER!"

What one would have to understand would be the fact that Lily Evans was no longer at odds with James Potter or his friends anymore (nor, of course, was she good friends with Severus Snape, but as she had long since one particular incident severed all ties with him, this was to be expected). Since James had become Head Boy and Lily Head Girl, she had taken more notice of his good side (one that, admittedly, she hadn't even thought was there). However, his obnoxious prankster side was clearly unstoppable (evident from the fact that he'd only just recently replaced her shampoo with toothpaste; how he'd managed to get into her bathroom she'd never know).

James stopped laughing with his friends, clearly having just noticed the lack of an Invisibility Cloak. "Oh, hello there, Evans," he said cheerfully. "Good walk, then?"

Lily put her hands on her hips and glared at him while simultaneously fighting to keep her lips from even twitching into a smile. "A lot more pleasant before I ran into you."

"Oh, come now, Evans." James grinned impishly. "Surely you don't mean that? As a matter of fact, I rather think you meant it was _less_ pleasant before you saw me."

Lily glared at him a little longer—it was very difficult—before turning around and walking away.

Lily wasn't stupid, however. She knew that the minute she turned, James and his friends would be instantly prepared to hit her with another snowball. She turned back around to find that she was right, and just in time to avoid getting hit in the face, she whipped out her wand and cried, "_Protego!_"

James looked taken aback at her quick spellwork, but even more so at the slush that smacked him in the face. It covered his glasses, and as he attempted to wipe them clean, Lily quickly charmed the snow around her to fly at the group, scattering all except James, whose eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Excellent wandwork, Evans." There was that mischievous grin again. "But you know, I think you've met your match."

"In who?" Lily asked conversationally before turning to walk back towards the castle.

She whipped around again after three snowballs pelted her, two on the back of her dark red hair and one squarely in her back. "POTTER!"

The afternoon continued in a flurry of snowballs, Sirius, Remus, and Peter having returned to aid James (as it happened, when they scattered they considered it a perfect excuse to make for themselves more artillery) and Lily, who for a moment had been fighting with an unfair disadvantage, was joined by Marlene McKinnon and Alice Longbottom, having joined the fray upon realizing who was involved. They returned to the castle soaking wet, and it was Lily—though she momentarily had forgotten and had searched her dormitory fruitlessly for a hair dryer to charm—that got them all dry in time for dinner.

From it all, Lily learned that any snowy December afternoon would never be normal with James around.


	5. The Tale of Harry and Ron

Spring allergies and Exploding Snap don't go well together.

* * *

The common room was moderately full; Saturday was often spent this way. It was a warm spring day; most of the fifth and seventh years were in the library (Hermione, of course, having joined them), the first, second, and third years were wandering the castle, and many of the fourth and sixth years were on the grounds—some at the Quidditch pitch, others swimming with the giant squid—with largely aimless intent.

Unfortunately, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had no such freedom.

Well, actually, Harry did have such freedom.

He could have left to join his fellow fourth years (with the exceptions of Ron and Neville, the latter of whom was over by the fire reading a copy of _Water Plants of the Mediterranean)_ on the Quidditch pitch, or visited Hermione in the library. Harry, however, had just eaten and was thus in no mood for Quidditch, and meeting Hermione in the library so as to study for the exams he wouldn't even have to take seemed completely mundane. He also didn't want to meander around the grounds, because that would mean running into gawking first, second, and third years (Colin Creevey was included in their number) or meeting someone like Draco Malfoy, who was the last person Harry wanted to see besides Snape, Wormtail, or Voldemort.

(Of course, a duel with Voldemort would certainly be more exciting than sitting here watching Ron, but it would also be much more life-threatening, and Harry had already had too many such experiences.)

What, of course, was he watching Ron for? It was simple, really—he was sitting here, wasting a perfectly good Saturday afternoon, watching Ron building a house of cards out of an Exploding Snap deck. This, admittedly, was probably very exciting and tension-building to Ron, but to Harry, it was absolutely boring.

"Can't we take a break from this and do something else?" Harry asked for the seventh time that afternoon.

"If you want to go run round with someone else all afternoon, fine by me," Ron replied impatiently, his brow furrowed, also for the seventh time that day.

Harry huffed in annoyance, also for the seventh time that afternoon. The truth of the matter was that he didn't want to go "run round with someone else all afternoon." After the falling out he'd had with Ron and the ensuing fiascos, he knew his best friend (and spending time with said friend) was important to him—more so than he'd realized, anyway. He had good friends all over the castle, but none of them seemed to be exactly lining up to hang around with him—not like he expected them to. Of course, those who he did expect to were those he wanted to stay away from, but then again, they weren't his good friends.

Harry felt it before it happened, but there didn't feel like there was a way to stop it. Ron, sensing danger, held a finger up to Harry's nose in alarm, his eyes dilating in terror. Harry took a deep breath, and Ron did the same out of relief before turning back to his house of cards.

Harry put his chin in his hands. He didn't want to seem rude at all, but he almost wished he had sneezed—he felt it might have been rather exciting.

Two seconds later, he was right.

A bang like a cannon blast resounded around the common room. Smoke clouded Harry's vision, though he expected it was only near him and Ron, because everyone else sounded like they were laughing fit to burst.

When the smoke cleared, it turned out that he had been right. Fred and George Weasley, who earlier had been quietly muttering to each other in another squashy armchair by the fire, had turned and were pointing and laughing hysterically at the scene. A group of seventh years over in a corner who appeared to already be studying for their N.E.W.T.s, seemed to enjoy taking a break. Even Neville had put down the book he had been so engrossed in earlier and was sinking into the armchair in his mirth.

To be honest, Harry felt almost like laughing himself, and if Ron hadn't been bypassing pink and turning scarlet, Harry might have done so. Both boys were covered in soot, and there was a scorch mark in the table. Ron looked irate, however, and Harry was quite sure he would not have seen anything funny about the situation.

The portrait providing entrance to the common room swung open, and a mane of bushy brown hair was momentarily all that was visible. Hermione then looked around, then turned to Neville, who wordlessly (he was too busy shaking with laughter) pointed toward Ron and Harry.

Hermione took one look over at the pair of them, raised her eyebrows, and said, "I should have figured." She shook her head and gave a sort of exasperated smile before walking up to the girls' dormitories.

Ron glared at Harry, his face now a shade of maroon that even Uncle Vernon would have been impressed at. "Next Hogsmeade visit," he growled, "you're buying me more Exploding Snap cards."

Harry nodded, too afraid to open his mouth for fear of laughter bursting out of it. It might have involved another cleaning of his glasses and soot all across his face, but he supposed that it was one of those things Ron might forgive him for later, and they'd laugh about it like nothing had happened.

Well, one could dream, anyway.


	6. The Tale of Lily and Rose

I haven't been writing for a while; I've been taking a long...sabbatical, I guess you'd say, from . I know I don't have a whole host of followers on here, but I just thought I'd let you all know why I haven't been updating or doing anything in a while.

If this story seems rushed or anything, I'm really sorry! I tried to keep it moving while at the same time putting everything into it that I could.

* * *

Lily Luna Potter stormed into the Gryffindor common room, throwing herself down into the confines of a squashy scarlet armchair by the fire and scattering a crowd of frightened nearby first years. She folded her arms across her chest, released a sharp huff that launched a stray tuft of fiery hair off her face, and sulked.

Ordinarily, Lily was not a sulky person. She considered herself far too old for sulking—she was fifteen, after all, and had outgrown such childish behavior. She was a more excitable person, and thus was too optimistic to let anything get her down for too long.

However, Lily was also not known for sticking regularly to the status quo—especially not when it came to her boyfriend and her cousin.

When Lily and Scorpius had first begun seeing each other, rumors were flying all over the place, as there was next to nothing that could be well hidden inside the walls of Hogwarts for long. Among these rumors concerned Rose, who everyone said was insanely jealous and wanted to hex both Lily and Scorpius. However, the girl in question had assured her that she had no romantic feelings for Scorpius. She had told her that the rumors were just that—rumors, just like Lily's father and Aunt Hermione.

Under normal circumstances, Lily might have believed her—and she had, for a time. But then, on her way back to Gryffindor Tower from Charms class, she found Rose and Scorpius standing in the hallway, Rose hugging him close to her enough that it certainly looked like something it shouldn't have been. Then, others saw it too, and then there were the sneers…

"Nice going, Potter. Can't even get a _Malfoy_ to date you."

"We told you he just liked you to get to your cousin, but no, you had to find out the hard way."

"Just like your dad, he couldn't hold down a girlfriend either…"

Normally, Lily would not have been fazed by this—she was used to people being rude to her, most of them Slytherins—but for poor Lily, who had already been dealing with Quidditch finals and O.W.L.s and who was already stressed as it was, it was far too much. She had whirled around and stalked back to the common room, blinking and choking back tears.

Suddenly, a voice murmured a "hey" into her ear. It wasn't a particularly loud murmur, but Lily had been lost enough in her own whirlwind of thoughts, and was jolted back enough to reality that she jumped a little out of reflex. She whipped around; her red hair flew about her face, but when she saw who it was she turned back around in the armchair.

"Oh," she said, not bothering to keep the venom in her voice subtle, "It's you."

Rose plunked herself into a chair next to Lily's and didn't speak for a minute. Finally, she began, "Lily, I heard what happened, and—"

"Of course you heard." Lily couldn't stop the words tumbling from her lips, and she wouldn't have bothered to if she could. "You were part of it. You're the reason it even happened. You just can't let me be happy, can you? First you ruined my fifteenth birthday because you couldn't bother with actually trying to get along with half the family because 'I'm just so stressed out!' Then you spoil Christmas with all your friend drama and now…" Her voice was building a crescendo, but Lily was too incensed to care. "Scorpius is _my_ boyfriend, Rose! But everybody thinks he likes you! You just up and hugging him in the middle of the corridor doesn't _help_ anything!" She was all out shouting now, and the whole of the common room was staring at her, but she couldn't have cared less. Her gaze was fixed on Rose, her eyes narrowing in her fury. "Honestly, Rose, if _you_ didn't want me to date Scorpius, if _you_ liked him, why didn't you just up and _say so_?"

Rose's blue eyes widened with shock as Lily's words grew louder and louder, and she was near tears by the end of it. "Lily…I had no idea."

"No, you didn't." Lily felt rather tearful herself, though out of anger more than anything, but she refused to cry. "That's the problem with you—you never listen anymore! I keep trying to talk to you and tell you things, but every time I do you're either too busy with N.E.W.T.s or you're too busy wrapped up in whatever it is! I know you have to study, and I know that it's important to you, and I don't want to sound selfish at all, but you're my friend too!"

Rose was quiet for a long moment and then a murmur escaped her lips that Lily could scarcely hear.

"I'm sorry, Lily."

She sighed and then looked up at her cousin, blue eyes misty with tears."I didn't mean it like that, Lily—I didn't! I—he told me he'd help me with Potions, even though Al told me I'd have to do it on my own and—well, you know I want to get the best grades I can, and I'm awful at Potions, and Scorpius is really good at it, and…oh, Lily, I'm sorry…and I didn't mean to spoil your birthday or Christmas at all! I was just…I was stressed and hurt and angry about everything and I wasn't thinking and…I'm so sorry, Lily."

At Lily's doubtful look, Rose leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder, looking relieved when Lily didn't pull away. "I don't mean to hurt you, Lily, and I don't want to. I don't like Scorpius that way, it'd be weird. I mean, we're best friends, and he's like another brother. I love him like a brother and I know he feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. And I'm sorry for ignoring you too; I've just been so worked up lately I haven't thought about it."

"It's alright." Suddenly, Lily felt quite ashamed of herself. "I should have talked to you first. I…I want you to do the best that you can on the N.E.W.T.s, Rose, and I didn't mean to sound so selfish. I'm sorry."

"It's alright; I get it." The two girls smiled at each other, then hugged. Lily was amazed at how complicated problems could be and how amazing it was that some of them could be solved so quickly.

Rose seemed to consider something for a moment and then turned to look at Lily again. "He loves you, Lily. I know he hasn't told you anything, and if he hasn't told you then he certainly hasn't told me, but I can see it. Give him time. After all"—at this her eyes sparkled with humor—"he is a boy."

"Ah, if only there was a truly brave one out of the bunch." The two girls giggled, and the common room seemed to have gone about its usual activities, some relieved that a fight between two people who were part Weasley hadn't turned into an all-out brawl.

Lily gazed at her cousin. "Really, though, I trust you. After all, you are the smartest one out of all of us."

"Perhaps not in everything." Rose smiled, though it was rather weaker.

Lily just smiled back and hugged her cousin again. The girls were different—perhaps not as different as night and day, but sometimes they came quite close. Arguments would likely run rampant through their lives until they became too old to bother anymore. That is the way with family—the way with most people in general.

But they were cousins—in fact, practically sisters—and that was all that mattered.


	7. The Tale of Neville and Hannah

Man, have I been out of it. I haven't written anything in this for a year. I am so, so sorry! I had some major writers' block. I had no idea who I was going to write about, and then I thought of one about Neville and Hannah and I thought, "Why the heck not?" So here you are, the final tale of Hogwarts.

* * *

Hannah stared around her, brushing a few strands of her blonde hair out of her face. _Look at all of this_, she thought sadly. _So much death…I can't believe it. I never thought it would happen _here_._ Hogwarts had always felt so safe; she hadn't felt more secure anywhere else, even last year, when You-Know-Who—well, Voldemort, she supposed she could call him now—was back. But now…the Death Eaters had come here, breached the boundaries, killed so many innocents, and nearly killed her. How could she feel safe here anymore? She wasn't even sure that anywhere was safe.

She looked over in a far corner, and her heart nearly broke in two. The Weasleys, surrounding Fred's body, all of them in tears—even George. Of all the people to die, she'd never imagined that _Fred_ would…that he would have been one…oh, George…she wanted to run over there, comfort someone, but she knew she couldn't.

She noticed one fiery redhead missing from among the group—Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger for that matter, was nowhere to be found. She didn't notice Harry Potter anywhere, either…she didn't know where they were, but it must have been important. They had all gone through so much together. She supposed they must want some peace and quiet to talk about…whatever had happened.

Speaking of someone in need of peace and quiet, she spied Neville over at one of the tables, that sword in his hand, surrounded by a clump of admirers. She couldn't help but feel annoyed—she should be over there with him, too. It was a touch selfish, but she was his girlfriend.

She walked over to him purposefully just as he was detaching himself from Romilda Vane, who was batting her eyelashes unashamedly and saying something in that gooey, overly sweet voice that Hannah knew could only mean trouble. He looked over at Hannah and his eyes lit up. He said something to her—rather firmly, Hannah guessed, from the look on his face—and walked away from her towards Hannah (Romilda looked rather put out).

"Hey, Hannah," he said, grabbing her hand and linking his fingers through hers.

"Hey, Nev," she said back, smiling. "Have fun with your fans?"

"Not really," he replied, sighing. "I mean, it was great at first, because people who already liked me came up to talk about it—you know, like members of the D.A. But…then I started to get all of those girls, and they were some of the same ones who kept stalking Harry last year, and it got rather old. Especially that Romilda girl, she drove me mad. In fact, she told Harry last year that he could go sit in their compartment instead of with 'them', talking about Luna and me. It was like we weren't cool enough to be with 'The Chosen One' or something."

"You are cool!" Hannah said indignantly.

Neville chuckled. "That's what Harry said. She left after that, but she didn't stop following him around."

Hannah smiled. "That's Romilda. I'd have liked some peace and quiet from the start, if it were me."

"I'd love some," Neville replied. "Come on, let's go walk by the lake."

The two walked hand in hand around the lake, staring around at the near ruins of the grounds. The courtyard was in shambles, being slowly repaired by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn. The fire in the Quidditch pitch was being put out by several people whom Hannah recognized as members of the old Gryffindor Quidditch team—Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet, flying around and looking determined to put out the blaze. The grass was trampled and burned, and several trees had been knocked down. One lone beech tree stood standing near the lake, and it was under this tree that Neville and Hannah sat down and began to talk.

"I'm really proud of you, Neville," Hannah murmured, resting her shoulder against his.

"For being a hero? Saving Hogwarts? Helping end Voldemort? Being the Snake Slayer?" He chuckled humorlessly at his newfound nickname.

Hannah held up a hand to silence him. "No," she replied. "I'm proud of you for you, the boy who was brave enough to stand up to Harry Potter in your first year because you didn't think he was doing the right thing. I'm proud of you for you, the boy who had Snape as your boggart—for good reason—and made it the talk of the school for days because you could stand up to it. I'm proud of you for you, the boy who went to the Department of Mysteries and fought with Harry, even when most of us might have been too afraid, because you wanted to help. I'm proud of you for you, the boy who led us all through this year, stood up to the Carrows, did your best to—"

"Oh, come on, Hannah." Neville turned very red all of a sudden. "I only did what most other people would have done, the fact that I succeeded at some of that was just luck—"

"Now you sound just like Harry, and look what he did," Hannah said, cutting across his protests. "The point is, Neville, I'm proud of you because of why you did all those things, not because of the things themselves." She smiled and put a hand to his cheek. "You're amazing, Nev," she murmured. "Never forget that. I don't care about you as the Hero of Hogwarts or the Snake Slayer or—wait, is that seriously what they're calling you?"

Neville laughed. "I thought it a bit much myself."

"Way too dramatic," Hannah agreed. "Anyway, I don't care about any of that. You care about people and you want to do what's right. That's what I care about. Whether you saved Hogwarts or not, you're a hero to me."

He wrapped his arms around her. "And to me, Hannah, that's all that matters."


End file.
